Portland, Oregon
16 January 2014
It was a misty night in Portland. A thick gray pea soup clung to the street lights, obscuring any signs of modernity, anything outside of a three-foot nimbus. This Thursday evening had a particularly timeless feel – it could’ve been 1868, 1968, 2068.
The faithful have always gathered at night, apart from the common sense and rationality of the day-walkers. Whether it be antlered druids gathered at stone circles or juke joints in the ’20s, drinking and carousing to the devil’s music. People gather in the dark, to dance, to love, to dream. Perhaps this is part of why Christianity was such a harsh enemy of witchcraft? Witches stay up too late to make productive worker drones.There was a new skin for the old ceremony at the Doug Fir, whose log cabin interior became an alternate reality for tonight’s double-header: a hometown show for local-boy-made-god Plankton Wat and San Fransisco’s (and some Oregonians, now) Wooden Shjips.
Plankton Wat’s Dewey Mahood assumed the role of guitar player as grand magus this evening, his blood-red Gibson SG acting as wand, bending the air to his will, filling our minds with sweet, sweet dreams. The ghost of John Fahey smiled approvingly, while the Acid Mothers Temple watched on from the clouds, like the enlightened masters of Star Wars. Plankton Wat’s set ranged from acid stoner grooves to electric raga, richly reverbed and accompanied by stomping, headbanging tribal drums. The pair used to play together in the band Edibles, and they even treated us to a particularly spacey and epic version of “Rad Trip” from 2011’s Other Minds Meet Inner Space. He claimed the pair were starting a project called Spectral Control, and to watch out for that name. It kind of seemed like he was kidding, but they have a real and solid chemistry, and I advise you to keep an eye out for them.The duo closed with a version of “Nightfall” from last year’s Drifter’s Temple (although originally appearing on the Shadows cassette on Belgium’s Sloow Tapes label). It approximates the sensation of night falling over the Cascadian mountains, but not menacing. This is the night time for loving, for dancing, for dreaming. It is soft as thunder, soft as velvet, soft as black fur. It was nice to hear Plankton Wat in a stripped back, live setting as his LPs have been getting increasingly lush and produced. It’s cool to hear the music, pared down to essentials. A killer tone, a ceremonial cast and the crushing hypnosis of rhythm. Heavy, soothing and meditative, all at the same time. There was a real feeling of a hometown show to their set: easy, natural and comfortable, with several shout-outs to the audience. Plankton Wat’s music gives you an insight into the dream life of the American West Coast, and a good example of the finest that instrumental psychedelic music has to offer.
Wooden Shjips have been gaining ground with each successive album getting more and more acclaim from the press. They blend the power and abandon of woolly ’60s acid rock with the motorik precision of ’70s kosmische musik, making a lean and mean electric boogie, although more White Light/White Heat than Boogie Chillun’. These seasoned veterans of the highway are exploring the mighty potential of the two-chord mantra, the sheer abandon of repetition, volume and fuzz. The vocals were low in the mix, which came off as continual sheets of sound, more endless riff tapestry than songs, per se. They even had a psychedelic light show that was like an oscilloscope layered with TV static. It was a good old-fashioned West Coast freakout; which is appropriate, as even if a few members have recently moved to Oregon, the band is still as San Fransisco as they come. That city just breathes acid rock like none other, still reeling in the lysergic epiphanies of 50 years ago, and some of this earth’s finest psych rock is still coming from the vicinity of Haight and Ashbury. Wooden Shjips are putting the Futurism back in retro-futurism; however, as this is nothing like a nostalgia trip novelty act. They employ all that we’ve learned from psychedelic guitar music: the endless delays, the joy of fuzzy distortion, the freakout organ; and strip out the bad: the self-indulgent solos, goofy lyrics and questionable escapist politics. Metalheads, throwback hippies and trancendentalist raver types will all find something to love here.If there were one action, one sensation, that could best encapsulate the spirit of America, it is driving. Endless black top highways, streaking on into eternity, the horizon hundreds of miles away, windows down, blasting freedom rock. There is a zen stillness that comes from extreme motion at high velocities. Wooden Shjips imagine Route 66 as the autobahn and San Fransisco as the end of the rainbow. The future, utopia, where we don’t have to wake up early, where we dance all night long. Freedom.
There are two kinds of people in this world: those that seek stillness in a quiet room, perhaps sitting on a cushion or just quietly staring out the window. Then there are those that seek peace in loud rock clubs, surrounded by people, dancing, sweating, forgetting it all. I am a little bit of both. On this Thursday the Wooden Shjips and Plankton Wat brought me some peace, some stillness, let me sort out my thoughts on this hyperactive culture. I had to leave a few songs early, due to some motorik concerns of my own: I had a bus to catch.Wooden Shjips gave me a shoutout at the last Terrastock festival, as I was the only person dancing amidst the record collectors, which later earned me some free records from the record fair. Six years later, we are both still following the same rainbow road, and I am happy to reciprocate. Wooden Shjips are some fine rock ‘n roll minimalism. Seek out their records, or see them live if they come yr way. Climb on board the endless boogie, roll down the windows and set the cruise control. We are hurtling towards the future, and the roads are clear.
Plankton Wat’s Drifter’s Temple and Wooden Shjips’ Back To Land are out now, on Thrill Jockey.
-J Simpson-
